


Talk In Circles

by orphan_account



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 00:58:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14905478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s not fair. It just, it isn’t, on anyone. So, this it has to, just, go. Away. Employing the, ignore-it-until-it-goes-back-to-where-it-came-from method isn’t exactly going to plan, but it’s all he’s got so he’ll try anyway.





	Talk In Circles

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this is ok for you! I apologise profusely for the distinct lack of dialogue, any overuse of commas that may present and well, the lack of anything actually happening.   
> I don't really know why, I chose these two, I guess I just started writing something and it was them?  
> I took some liberties with facts and timelines (as in I totally ignored anything that happened but that date is Summer 2018, though it could be 2017) so nothing will match up exactly to a series or anything.   
> Also, about half way through there’s a very (a few lines) brief mention of someone being hit out in the middle, it's really not much but if you don't want to read it then it starts at 'Jason can only watch' and ends at 'It's not though'.  
> Here's another example of how I can't do titles or summaries, or endings.

It’s late, well past midnight, and Jason knows, he knows, he should go to sleep. Instead he’s watching reruns of some ancient sitcom he doesn’t care to learn the name of, thoughts cannoning of the walls of his brain. He’s tried everything to shut it up but tonight it seems especially loud, so he’s turned to bad television and social media to try and distract him. It’s, it’s really not working though, and when he stops scrolling, lingering on a photo of Sam, Jos and Morgs he knows it’s a hopeless exercise.

He sighs, chucking his phone onto his pillow, glaring at it.

This, has got to stop. He can’t quite remember when this started. Calling it _this_  because it’s easier than, whatever actually calling it something would be. When he started noticing the way Sam’s eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way he’d always give Jason that tiny grin of whenever he was about to do something stupid, and how the sight of his best friend, usually perfectly styled hair, flattened and curling over his forehead, damp with sweat or water, made his throat dry. Sam, is. He’s Sam isn’t he. He’s funny, he’s smart. He’s nice, he’s his best bloody friend. Or one of them anyway.

It’s not fair. It just, it isn’t, on anyone. And it’s annoying because he’s not, he doesn’t do men,not like, not like this, he doesn’t do _boyfriends_. Someone should really remind his heart of that though, not that it would care, it's got a mind of it’s bloody own. He knows what Rory or Jade would say, they’d tell him to stop moping, stop being an idiot and just talk to him.

It’s not, it’s not that easy though, there’s a thousand ways it could go wrong, a thousand ways that Jason could fuck everything up and, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, doesn’t know if he wants to know what he’s doing. The thought of them not speaking, living without his best mate, sends a pang through his chest, and however much it hurts not to have him like _that_  it hurts tenfold not to have him at all.

So, _this_  it has to, just, go. Away. Employing the, ignore-it-until-it-goes-back-to-where-it-came-from method isn’t exactly going to plan, but it’s all he’s got so he’ll try anyway.

 

Sam’s sitting on the balcony, pads strewn on the bench behind him, bat propped up against them. The rate this game is going, he muses, he doubts he’ll even need to put them on. Jason and Morgs are in the middle together, piling on the runs. They look imperious.

Another crack sounds out, as Eoin dispatches another delivery for four, cheers rising from the stands, barmy army members well past tipsy at this point. The sun is warm on his face, there’s a gentle buzz around the ground, interspersed with occasional raucous yells, the smell of alcohol and sun cream blend together. It’s one of those really warm days, the sort you get 3 or 4 days a year in England, he can hear Trevor talking about something. He’s not sure why, but his mind drifts to the winter just passed.

Another BBL spent with Jase in Sydney. Where they would spend most evenings together, messing around with a football, watching awful Australian soaps, or wandering around town in search of a bar or pub to waste the night away in. Where they’d have coffee together, or made each other breakfast. Coffee, and eggs or a pastry of some description usually. Where they would lie on top of each other, and Sam’s heart would race feeling Jason’s breath tickling against his neck. He remembers watching his mouth forming words, the way his tongue would poke sometimes through his lips when he was either excited or tired, or how breathing in and smelling _Jason_ made Sam giddy.

He yells. Something cold and wet has just hit his cheek.

“Wouldn’t want you burning now would we Bilbo?” Jonny says, a conspiratorial grin spreading across his cheeks.Sam chucks a stray boot at him and mutters something about speaking for yourself, and bloody Yorkies, before grabbing a water bottle and checking the scoreboard again.

He knows it’s all a bit pointless anyway. Jason’s, Jason’s obviously not, and never going to be interested. Apart from the tiny issue that Sam’s, well, a man, he’s just not, just not someone Jason would want. Like that anyway.He’s sure of the type of person Jase would end up with. She’ll be beautiful, of course, make him laugh, he can imagine it now. Her eyes sparkling at another joke one of them has just told. Sam can picture them together, sipping prosecco on a balcony in a Surrey suburb. The image sends a piercing sharp pain through his chest, and Sam sighs.

One evening, chatting with Jos, talking in vague sentences and blank epithets, he’s almost been convinced to just. Try it. If he’d done it there and then, maybe things would be different. For the better? Maybe, maybe not, but different anyway. He hadn’t though, done it then. He’d slept on it, and by the time he’d woken up he’d lost all the previous courage and intent, and just. Left it.

 

They go about their daily routine, netting, fielding drills. Games of table tennis or FIFA or whatever with the boys. Preparing for the next match. The journey from Cardiff to Headingley is a long one, and Sam’s glad that this time, they’ll be heading up on the coach rather than driving separately. It’s fairly late when they head off, about 8:00,  and some of the boys have got their pillows out already.

“Look at all these old men, with their bedtimes” Jason said, flopping down in the seat beside Sam, “terrible, the lot of them.”

“Who let the children stay up?” a voice called from further forwards into the bus, causing Jason to roll his eyes and throw a bottle in the direction of the voice.

Sam turns to him, propping himself up against the window, sprawling his legs over Jason's. Sam grabs a cinnamon swirl from his bag, proffering it to Jason for a bite, which he gladly accepts.When he's finished his first mouthful he leans over and grabs another chunk of Sam’s pastry,

“You’re the worst” Sam tells him,

“Don’t eat with your mouth full”

Sam rolls his eyes “Sure mum”

Jason prods his head, before getting out his phone. Leaving Sam to resume his attempts to successfully finish his swirl in peace. When he looks up he sees Jason’s phone pointing in his direction. “What are you doing? Oh my god” He says, “ I hate you. So much. With every fibre of my being”

Jason laughs

“No, seriously if you dare put this on your sto-”

“Oops?”

“Don’t, don’t oops me Roy you, you”

“What? Light of your life, healer of your soul? I’m touched Samuel, genuinely touched.”

Sam shakes his head laughing, as Jason clutches his hand to his chest. “Idiot.”

 

Jason can only watch on in horror and he sees Sam flinch, falling to his knees. It happens in slow motion, Jason feels like he’s going to throw up. Jos is crouching in front of Sam, hand on his shoulder. The Pakistan team have gathered round him, checking if he’s alright, and all he wants is for them to just _go away_  he has to see if Sam’s ok. And he can't at the moment, he can’t see him. Why won’t they move dammit?

Even once Sam’s standing back up again, drinking and telling the physio he’s fine, The relief that floods through him isn’t enough to shake that sick feeling from his stomach. His leg still trembling quietly as he waits for his panic ridden body to catch up with the reality that he’s OK. Sam’s OK.

It’s not though, until Sam’s back in the dressing room, for a well earnt 64, that, after engulfing Sam in a hug, he feels the final steely tendrils of panic dissipate from his chest. That doesn’t stop him clinging onto him almost desperately, though. Not until the others come over, offering up pats on the back and “well done mate”s.

 

Later, he’s in Ben and Woody’s room. The lads are raucous, a fervent FIFA battle playing out between Dynamo Zagreb, Joe and Preston North End, Woody, on the screen. He can see Mo and Eoin chatting in the corner opposite him, he watches them for a while, catching their occasional glances in his direction. The others are crowded round the controllers, yelling out advice and abuse in equal measure. He can see Sam laughing about something with Stokesy and Hales, his eyes creasing, smile splitting across his face as Jason muses about how entirely _fucked_ he is. He feels a prickle of something akin to jealousy, and immediately admonishes himself. It’s stupid, he knows it is, there’s no reason to be jealous of either Ben or Hales, and Sam’s not his. He has absolutely no right to be, and yet here he his anyway, acting like a jealous housewife or something. And over Hales. Really?

“Alright Jase?” It’s Morgs, he looks up to see Mo had left, though most of the others were still yelling about panenkas.

“Hmmm? yeah Morgs, just tired”

“If you say so mate” he says, sounding not entirely convinced.

“I do.” He plans to leave it at that, turning his attention back to the screen, but then, getting up says “I think I’ll head of to bed actually mate.”

Eoin watches him as he leaves.

 

They’ve pretty much got the weekend off, so Joe and some others have organised a table tennis tournament. What started as a bit of harmless fun has ended up as something, well, not harmless. There’d already been one incident, with Jonny watching helplessly as the ball flew past him, desperately lunging last minute towards it and ending in a tangled heap of gingers on the floor. Beneath him, a rather disgruntled Irishman had told him to “Fuck off. Jonathon.”

“Still stronger and more stable than our Theresa though” Jos quipped.

“Of course of course, I expect to get the call from Liz to go to Bucks Palace not too long from now” Jonny grinned.

The chaos of the first game set the tone for the rest of the tournament, with balls, paddles and occasionally cricketers flying everywhere. Somewhere within the Chaos Ben and Woody had managed to accrue enough points to top the table, though Jason doesn’t believe them when they say that no underhand tactics had been used.   
Mainly because he and Sam had employed said underhand tactics. Not that they’ll admit _that_ to the boys.

 

Sam’s found himself in Chris’ room, cup of tea in his hand, a re-run of an old Championship match is playing softly in the corner of the room. They’re both not paying it all that much attention, watching it behind their phones, mugs rested on their knees.  
Chris turns to look at him “Sam, we’re good mates yeah, we’re close?”

“Yeah, of course mate of course”

“And you do know, you know if there’s anything,anyone. You can, we can talk yeah?”

Sam shuffles, “Yeah, yeah I know”

“OK, good well, as long as you do yeah?” Chris says, giving him a gentle smile.

They turn their attention back to the game, falling into a companionable silence, making the odd interjection when something happens in the match, or laughing at something on social media. Chris shows Sam a video of a Bernese Mountain Dog and a lemon, Sam checks the scores from last night.

“Actually I,” Sam says a while later. “I, there’s, I have an anyone. But. I mean. I can’t, you know. They, they just. It’s -?”

“Complicated?”

Sam hums in agreement Chris huffed a gentle laugh “I thought you’d say that”

Sam smiles ruefully at him. “It is though, kind of. Or I mean, in a way it’s not. At all, they just. I know he doesn’t, he wouldn’t.”

“If we’re talking about,” Chris began “not that I’ll go making assumptions, you know what they say about asses and assuming.” he grins “But if it’s who I, you know would, assume. I’m not sure. I don’t think you’re right you know”

Sam just looks at Chris, not saying anything.

“Just, Sam. Talk to him? It won’t be as bad as you think, trust me”

“I, just, I don’t know. He doesn’t.”

“I’ve seen you two, we all have. You, he. He obviously cares Sam.” Chris says softly.

Sam gives a non-committal nod but doesn’t say anymore. They go back to talking about football, cat videos and the series so far. Drafting a comment to leave on the latest frankly _awful_ post from Hales, until it gets late, and Sam heads back to his own room for the night.

 

Eoin leaves Jason with a pointed look as Sam makes his way over to them. Over at the other side of the room, Joe, Jonny and some others have started a game of darts, their yells and sledges breaking the gentle evening buzz of the room every now and then. Sam flops on the sofa next to Jason, giving him a grin.

“Am I nothing more to you than a human pillow?” Jason asks, though makes no attempt to displace Sam’s head.

“You’re comfy” Sam mumbles, before stifling a yawn.

They talk for a bit, putting the world to rights, offering up unsolicited advice to Joe and the others, chatting about plans for when the series is over. Jason’s talking absentmindedly about something Jade had told him about some football controversy. when Sam doesn’t reply; Jason looks down and realises he’s fallen asleep. His lips gently parted, hair falling softly over his forehead. Smiling he gets out his phone to take a photo, it might be useful. Or something.Across the room, Joe’s dart has flown well past the board and embedded itself in the wall behind it. Joe looks aghast, beginning is excuses as he makes to retrieve it, Jonny and Chris have descended into fits of laughter and even Jason from behind his phone lets out a gentle huff of amusement.

A buzz from his phone stirs Sam awake, his pillow is firmer than he remembers it being and there’s a slight ache in his shoulders, he must have slept oddly. Sam reaches forwards, switching on his phone on, and scrolling through his notifications he opens two from Jonny.

7:43

**Jonnopher Bairstow**

_Have a nice night lad?_

7:44

_**Jonnopher Bairstow sent you a photo** _

It’s of Jason and him. His head’s resting against Jason’s shoulder, Jason’s tilted against his. Jason’s arm is splayed across his body, Sam’s hand caught in his. Beside him, Jason shifts and groans as he wakes. Opening his eyes to see his legs splayed across Sam next to him. 

“Morning” Sam smiles.

“Too early” Jason mumbles, groaning again as he sits up, reaching backwards to release the knots that had formed in his neck overnight.

“Come on lazy bones,” Sam laughs, “It’s nearly eight.” 

They lie for a bit, longer, until Jason’s morning alarm goes off. 

“To our rooms then?, should probably get dressed.” 

Sam nods in agreement.

“Mate” Jason says.

Sam looks up “yeah?”

“I, I want… We.” He shakes his head. “Nevermind”


End file.
